your love is the fire

my heart is the embers
charred, left behind, but glowing after your touch

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i know all love ends the same
i just want to know
how you will break my heart

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I'm tired
Of writing sad poetry
But when I'm happy
It seems I'm just too god damn busy.

i have nightmares about bridges burning a lot,
probably because the last one i burned killed all my elation
i still think of you everyday,
your face still brings me to my knees,
i can feel your presence in every room,
because the bullets intrude my anatomy every time you even glance at me.
even if I’m not looking back.

love has always been a hollow ribcage for me,
a burned down church,
that I always went back to to pray to,
only to be brought to my knees by it’s absence,
every single time.
all I knew about love was that it was violent,
that it made people into glass,
that it broke people like wrecking balls against buildings
and there I was for years waiting for you to come and destroy me just like every time my father walked out that door.
but you never did.
instead you planted flowers in a garden that had been barren for years,
you ended the winter that was electrifying throughout me,
you taught me that maybe my insides weren’t so hollow,
because my heartbeat felt like more than just the sound of spoons clinking together to remind me that it was time to eat away at my own insides again.

but you’re gone,
and here I am feeding away at my insides again,
except there is nothing left for me to destroy,
my body is a graveyard.
and maybe love does turn you into glass,
because every time you speak to me,
my insides shatter like fine china in tight palms,
you made me feel like more than just a felon,
that my hands were fluent in something beyond destruction,
but when you kept asking me to come back,
i threw rocks at my own windows,
because it hurt so much to have to walk away,
i painted my own self image against your brain,
so that you wouldn’t see me as that girl that turned your body into melted honey,
you’d see me for the demons chanting in the back of my head.
and I guess it worked,
because you told me you do not love me anymore,
i wonder if you hung that painting in your bedroom.
saw it every morning and finally became too disturbed that you put me to rest.
or maybe you got tired of the girl who cried wolf,
i mean isn’t that why you left in the first place?

you told me you felt lost after i left,
and here I am, I caught your illness.
i would have done anything to try and recreate how you made me feel,
but just like any person who tries to recreate Picasso or Monet
it’s never quite as good the second time
or third,
or fourth,
sure the cigarettes burn like the way the memory of your flesh burns against my mind,
but it hurts less.
so I smoke a pack a day, swallowing the smoke like I’ve learned to swallow my pride,
but then it just reminds me of the puff of smoke I see every time you walk away from my bones.
i become a sad child again,
there is nothing more devastating than doorways for me.
but I want you to know that I woke up this morning,
and there was sunlight slipping through the cracks of the earth,
earth that has been grey for too long,
your ghost did not slip through my walls,
the sound of your voice does not crack at my sidewalks anymore.

my insides are no longer hollow.
there are daisies blooming,
in my ribcage,
where there is also a city i have built around all the bridges i have burned,
including ours,
you told me you do not want me anymore,
you have told the world of my madness,
used my painting as a flag for your newly built town.
just know that i am still standing.
you have not broken me,
she has not broken me,
i was whole before you,
and i am whole now.
do not tell me you have found crystals mining through someone else’s anatomy,
don’t tell me you’re finally healed,
it’s never quite as good the second time.
or the third,
or the fourth.

your portrait was painted in chalk on the sidewalks of my life,
but it rained yesterday,
and you are gone,
except it did not bring me to my knees,
i am not mourning it's disappearance,
i am mourning your losses,
you have settled for crystals,
and let gold slip through your fingers,
i have used your bones to build myself up,
instead of beating myself down.
they say the first cut is the deepest,
but i am done bleeding.

I do not miss you anymore.
Vincii 7h

My stories are made in my past,
Past that will be the last,
Last that will make a new start,
Start that will make a new heart.

I've been a lie after a goodbye,
I've been a bad guy after a cry,
That's what happened when she left me,
And that's not what I wanted to be.

I thought I will never be happy,
I thought I will never see,
That there can be someone who can made me,
Feel like myself again and be free.

I called her my Angel,
The Angel in my Hell,
Who brought me back to heaven,
Who made me happy in a sudden.

"Hoping that she will accept everything in me"

Probably 'cause youre high all the time,
Nothing much comes to mind;
But when im with you we just unwind
And sometimes make words that kinda rhyme.
Sliding down the slippery slope of vally,
Without you I may never be happy.
But what does that matter?
Don't despair,
Your future awaits for you;
Someday it will make it's self clear,
But until then you're on the mend.
Dont worry if you swerve round the bend,
The worst has already happened.
Getting back on my feet is the best desicion I could ever make;
I usually make mistakes.
When you give, other's take
But never forget the sake.
If going to the clouds is your thing,
Then make sure it's me you bring.
I know i'm not imagining
Floating on the seventh cloud,
Theres no way I can drown now
I'm at bliss in the clouds!
And heaven feels so serene;
Tingles in every sound.
Whoever said it was make believe,
I can prove you wrong,
Take my hand and you'll see.

Can you imagine growing old without the self love you're truely owed
Looking for validation
From the Joker in the pack
Offered a hand
Not dealt to plan
That no one really understands
And believe me
You'll receive nothing much eles
But the cards you're dealt
And the self love that you've earned for yourself

You went through the cycle and got washed out viciously

When I offered you solace and a loving heart you returned with  shade and a cold shoulder

You succumbed to the bad influence

The potential we had before you feel weak was insurmountable

But the cycle took full control of you

Two years later and you finally see the evil in his eyes

When you fought constant battles with him I was watching in the stands

But the game is over now, we can go home now

And return to our happy beginnings

Come home.
tye wilt 21h

consider the sunflower
          with her black eye
                    watching the bees buzz and dance

with a sort of eclectic wonder  
          in the way she lazily sways with the breeze
                    as though she was floating

and, always, with an eagerness to listen
          to the song-like preaching of the sun
                    wrapped up in the curled grass

or the way she hangs her head
          at the early signs of dusk
                    when the sunlight goes swimming off into the horizon

while the moonlight stretches its black robes over the field
          as she settles into a melancholy
                    waiting for the dawn to return.

RK 1d

All the little things I love
Like meeting friends and giving hugs
To eat a scone I've made at home
To meditate on a yoga rug.

To feed the birds and to care  
That every one gets a share
To inhale deep the breath of life
to exhale in sheer delight.

To go for walks all on my own
To watch my thoughts and not respond.To show the mind who's in command.
Standing firm in who "I am"

I love the city where I live
I wouldn't change a single thing
To see myself in every man
Trust and do the best I can.

To be, and joyous is being - free
not easy in our reality
I love to try and when I fail
I set again the "Self Name" aim.

Like an athlete who perfects a skill
Small loves build incrementally
Through understanding and the will. To go beyond expand what is.

And most of all to wish you well
Allow each one to grow, excel
To catch oneself in the act, and
delete the thoughts that create the lack.

Affectionately yourself!  


Hello to all the poets.
I've been on and off site as my husband has been unwell.
I wrote this poem  just after reading Harlons poetry. I hope it's read in the right context.
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